The Golden Thread
by Golden Boots
Summary: Victoria's wedding night looms. Unschooled in love and afraid, whom else would she turn to but her mentor in all things, her beloved Lord Melbourne? USUAL DISCLAIMERS APPLY Icon credit: Golden Boots
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter One**

"Lord Melbourne – I am afraid that I am afraid."

The sage head tipped to one side in a bird-like manner. "I am surprised to hear you say that. In the years I have known you, I have never known you to be afraid."

"ʻIn the years I have known youʼ," Victoria repeated with a current of nostalgia in her voice. "Perhaps apprehension would be a better term."

"It is perfectly normal for a bride to be apprehensive before her wedding day."

They were walking in the grounds of Buckingham Palace. It was a grey day in early February. The mist sat low on the ground, too sullen to wreathe atmospherically, and soaked the hem of Victoria's gown. There might have been all around them the green shoots of snowdrops pushing their way up through frigid soil but she saw them not. Her head, usually carried high and stately upon her shoulders despite her tiny stature, hung low. In five days' time, she would be married to Albert at St James's Palace.

The path turned a corner and led them through a long laburnum arch. It was presently bare of the burning yellow flowers that would adorn it in early summer but the network of twining branches still screened those who entered from general view. There was a lovers' seat halfway along. "Come, sit beside me in the bower," said Victoria, immediately settling herself so as to give her fondest advisor no other choice.

They sat in silence for some time, long enough for the sun to move and rearrange the dappled light that fell upon them. Long enough for the awkwardness of two people about to discuss intimate matters to dwindle to contemplativeness. Lord Melbourne looked at her directly, at this small thing in demure dress whose unique features would sing out even if she were wearing sackcloth. It was an invitation for her to speak.

"You are a man of the world, Lord Melbourne," she began, still looking at her gloves.

"So they say."

She turned to him suddenly, earnest blue eyes searching his face. "Will there be pain? What I mean to say is - ahhh." Her chin touched her breast briefly. She gathered herself. "Are you experienced with women?"

For a moment, he was at a loss for words. Then he replied very, very gently, "I think these may be questions better put to your ladies-in-waiting."

"I have tried! But they giggle most infuriatingly or they tell me what they think I wish to hear. That is something I know you would never do, no matter how much you humorously claim the truth is overrated. You are and always will be my most trusted friend." Just for an instant, she laid her kid-gloved hand upon Lord Melbourne's and squeezed.

He was put in mind of a cat he used to own – a marmalade fellow named Puck. This animal had been much beloved and almost a rival for his wife in his affections. However, the Prime Minister was a busy man, often distracted by the weight of his responsibilities when home and, on occasion, felt he had no time for the cloying attentions of a cat. Puck, uncertain his advances would be met with generosity, would reach out a paw and press it on the back of his owner's hand. Lord Melbourne would turn to be met by a pair of huge and quizzical amber eyes. And he would melt.

Now this little queen had had the same effect.

"Dear Lord M," she said, "in this fairy bower, let your wisdom and my curiosity meet in a place that shame cannot touch."

Words too poetic and too honest for him to reject. Any archness he once sported fell from his face. He looked at her frankly and dipped his head. "As you wish."

Victoria released a long sigh neither of them had been aware she was holding. "And so, I repeat my question. Will there be pain?"

"It is said women feel pain upon their deflowerment but that it is short-lived and may be mixed with pleasure."

The queen looked doubtful. "How long is 'short-lived'? A few hours? A few days?"

"No, naught but a moment, Ma'am! A moment of pain followed by, perhaps, some discomfort for a day or so."

Relief and embarrassment married in her eyes, making them glitter. "I see. Oh, I must seem so awfully gauche."

"Not at all. It is rather endearing, in fact."

Her tremulousness diminished as she met his gaze. She raised a hand and cupped his cheek. "It is good to know that I am dear to you." The gloved fingers began to slide down, her eyes following their progress, until a thumb flickered at the corner of his mouth.

A visible spasm passed through him. He took her wrist in an uncertain grasp. "Ma'am, I know what you would ask of me and I tell you, I cannot." Green eyes met hers and then, with greater honesty, he said, "I _must_ not." Yet he did not let go of her wrist. Was he intent upon removing her hand or fixing it in its place?

"I do not think you _do_ know what I would ask. I know I must remain chaste until my wedding night but – what if he is a brute?"

To Lord Melbourne's surprise, the final phrase was almost a scream. The hand in his grip went limp and he found himself holding it, stroking it with his other hand. "What in Christendom makes you think he might be? Has – has he done something to you?"

"No." She began to cry, snivelling miserably. "His kisses are tender and sweet, and he has been nothing but gentle with me, yet…"

"Yet?" He proffered his handkerchief. He could feel himself becoming enraged. He knew his mouth was now a line, his entire face, indeed, turning stiff and grim. Yet he could not help himself. If Albert had threatened her…

"When I was a young girl of but ten or so, I used to steal into the stables to be with my favourite horse, Florian. There was a stable-lad there. Sometimes, I would spy upon him and his sweetheart when they made an assignation. They would bill and coo and make love, and all was smiles with them both. I truly believed theirs was a great romance. Then the day came when he wanted more and she refused. She refused him with a smile and words to pacify, and I am certain that, one day, she might have said 'yes'. Perhaps on that day she had less time than usual or felt a little unwell. He would have none of it. He took her without preamble – turned her and took her like a beast in the field, as if he no longer cared she possessed a face. Yet when he had done, he turned her again and beat that face until… The horses were screaming…"

Victoria was ashen, trembling. Her tears had stopped and she stared ahead as if witnessing this horror from her childhood over again. Suddenly, she clutched at her throat and tight bodice, and fearing she would faint, Lord Melbourne gathered her to him. She put her arms around the broad span of this English oak and clung to it. He stroked the soft brown hair with the silver sheen until her trembling began to subside. "Poor little one," he said. "With all my heart, I wish you had never seen that."

"But it is the truth, is it not, of how some men behave?"

"Not all, Victoria, not all."

"Not you, that is certain. I know you are good! I know you are good!" Each little cry of confidence in him was accompanied by a pressing of him to her and a nuzzling of her face in his breast.

"If only I were half so good as you think me." Yet he smiled his faint smile like a glimpse of pale sun through wint'ry clouds and he tangled his fingers in the intricate loops of her hair. So lost did he become in this simple human contact, he found himself surprised when she broke the touch, sitting upright and resetting the bonnet that had been pushed back from her face.

"I am Queen," said Victoria. "On my wedding night, I shall be a virgin as the country expects me to be and I shall promise to obey Albert, whatever manner of man I find him to be. I know my duty." Her face became like that of a statue, frozen in the execution of a thought. Then her blue eyes moved up to his and he saw there was warmth in them still. "But I am not yet a woman. I am a girl, unknown to Man. And as a girl, I exert my right to be foolish and demanding. Lord Melbourne – William – I would know if it is true that there is pleasure to be had on the woman's part in the union of man and woman. This moment in time may be my only chance ever to know. Will you be my mentor in this as you have been my mentor in all other things? Will you come to me and love me and hold me? Please say that you will."

Temptation was coming, a cavalry charge from east and west. It crushed past and future underfoot as it converged upon this single moment in time, leaving it alone standing. There was no morality any more, no estranged wife, no career, no social standing. There was only Victoria and her face of an angel. "I will."

She kissed his black-gloved hand. "I shall make arrangements." The tension in her frame eased and a species of serenity crept into her face.

All was tumult within Lord Melbourne. Yet when his and Victoria's eyes met once more, it seemed they looked at each other along the line of a golden thread that connected the mind of one to the other. He cupped her elbow, and bade her rise with him and return to the Palace. As they walked, they discussed the practicalities of their agreement – how to avoid any suspicion of scandal and what have you – and all was sober and straightforward. Yet neither felt any longer the chill of the mist and the wet grass at their feet.


	2. Chapter 2

Never leave the grounds. That was the plan. Two days after they had made their agreement, Lord Melbourne quitted the palace after his and the Queen's daily meeting but upon his carriage reaching the gates, he remembered he had left an important document behind. Telling his driver not to wait – that he would take the opportunity for a constitutional – Lord Melbourne made his way to the derelict orangerie she had shown him earlier. Night was already falling. Twilight suited this place. It was somewhere half-dead and half-alive, abandoned by all, with broken pots and other garden paraphernalia scattered over the black and white tiled floor. Certain plants had flourished, however, grown wild in their neglect. Grapevines and other creepers seemed to have exploded against the walls, lay in shadowy, bestial mounds in corners or else reached reverent fingers towards the moon. The place was as fecund as a young woman's imagination.

Lord Melbourne, feeling over-civilised in this green wilderness, picked his way over to a back room where provisions had been left, as promised. From there, he could keep watch for a light in the window of a room in the sparsely-occupied north-west corner of the palace. It was the room Victoria would escape to and where she would sit in the flickering silence, waiting for him.

He should not feel this way about her. He had succeeded in suppressing how he felt about her for some time, telling himself the tenderness he experienced was paternal only. As he removed his coat and shirt, and performed his ablutions with soap and water, he considered his exposed skin, silvered by moonlight. Often times these days, he felt old. Old inside. Sometimes his back ached for no reason. Sometimes, his joints refused to work when he rose from his bed, making him stiff as an Egyptian mummy. Yet the arms he now sponged looked strong, the muscles well-defined and the dark hair sprinkled over his forearms was mixed with grey only here and there. He ran the sponge across the back of his neck and under each arm. His torso was still that of a man in his prime, only a little thickened about the waist and perhaps it was only he who noticed a certain looseness of the skin in the creases of his body. He paused. She had laughed and told him he was not old. This child-woman saw no trappings of age, only the vitality within him. She could not have known how joy had rushed through him at those words. On that day, at that moment, she had reanimated his heart and a sense-memory of the powerful male animal he had once been considered to be had galvanised him. From that day onward, he had found that to be in her presence was to have his soul dance again.

He sighed and gave a wry smile. How had he not realised it before? This coming moment was inevitable. As he completed his toilet, he fell to enumerating all the ways he might please her, what she might or might not enjoy – what he must and must not do. It was so dark by the time it came to fastening his white shirt, he struggled to see the buttons. Besides which, his hands were shaking. As was the rest of him.

Was that a faint glow? Lord Melbourne stepped up to the glass, eyes penetrating the gloom. Yes – a growing glow, as that of a fire building in a hearth. Not that it would be needed – the weather had turned unseasonably warm for February. Perhaps that is why he strode from the orangerie leaving his tailcoat and stockings behind. Softly he went across the lawn. This part of the palace grounds was so quiet, all he could hear was the huff of his breath and the thud of his feet on the turf. As he neared the casement, the bottom half of the sash lifted and a figure leant out; a tumble-haired Juliet breathlessly searching the night.

"I am here."

She started but, fortunately for them both, did not call out. "How will you reach up here?" she whispered, concerned. She had not realised the casement was five feet from the ground.

In an instant, his foot was against a drainpipe and an arm was thrown over the ledge. Victoria staggered backwards. One thrust and there he was, squatting in the casement, all his blood turned to quicksilver.


	3. Chapter 3

There was a man in her room. A tall man, dark and with a knowledge in his eyes that she could not compass. He wore boots, fawn breeches and a white shirt – nothing besides. The shirt was open at the throat and a darkness lay there not just of shadows but of the exotic fur of a man's bosom. His short hair was plastered to his head in Roman curls that framed his face. Almond-shaped eyes bore into her and his hands, his neck, his thighs – all spoke of unfathomable strength.

Here in her room! This was where the mementos of her childhood had been stored. Her rocking horse sat by the window, her first tiny writing desk, her narrow bed. Boxes, boxes everywhere, full of memories and dreams. And dreams she had had of men, too, men full of charm and wit, rakish in aspect yet tender in their touch. And here he was.

"Dearest Victoria," said Lord Melbourne. "Do not fear me now. You look upon me as if I were some frightful spectre but, believe me, I am a human man. And one who feels the chill, no less."

The little queen shook her head and admonished herself. "Of course." She hurried to the sash and closed it, closing the curtains at the same time. Yet when she turned back to pour comfort on a poor, mortal thing, she found herself facing something more than human. The eyes did not rest upon her face but roamed every inch of her. She became aware she was wearing nothing more than her nightgown and although the design was demure – long-sleeved, buttoned to the neck, hem kissing the ground – it was one thin layer of white cotton. A scrap of cloth between her naked body and the desires of a man. From the way he was looking at her, she suspected the fabric had become diaphanous in the firelight and he could see her nude silhouette. A craven little pang went through her and, at the same time, an unknown wetness touched her thigh as what lay between her legs responded to his bold, masculine gaze.

Suddenly, he moved towards her, a dark mass growing larger and larger, until he entered the pool of light cast by a candelabra and his face was the sun. He cupped her own face and bent down, placing a firm kiss on her forehead. He enfolded her in his arms, just as before, yet this time, the heat of his body powered through the ridiculous barrier of their clothes and soothed her, healed her. "Come now, dearheart. Is this not what you desired? Tell me now if your mind has changed and I shall leave immediately." A forefinger crooked beneath her pointed chin and lifted it. His voice, always soft, was softer still. With the two of them so close, there was no need for volume and the smoky hoarseness of it was like a fragrant cloud about her. "But know now, that is not what I desire. My fondest wish is to be entirely at your disposal, Ma'am."

The porcelain face shone. The warmth of him had worked its magic, banishing fear of his maleness. All that remained was fear of that unknown quantity, of sex itself. With a bashful smile, Victoria took his hands in hers and led him to the hearthside. "Take off your boots," she said, "if you wish."

He did so, placing them in the hearth itself to dry. His bare feet made contact with the rug before the fire and his toes curled at the sensuous touch of the thick pile.

Victoria giggled at the sight of the peer's naked toes.

Lord Melbourne's cheek twitched as he settled himself on the floor, back to a fireside armchair. "You find me amusing, Your Majesty?"

She could not stop. "It is as if I never imagined you had feet, Lord M!"

"William," he said, "surely."

Victoria shook her head. "Dear me. Bare feet and first name terms." She bit her bottom lip. "Whatever next?"

"I think I know." He held out his arms and she went to him once more. He turned her with huge, benign hands so she could sit with her back to him while he stroked the outside of her arms and her hair.

The fire was blazing now: illuminating, warming. In other circumstances, they might have become sleepy but not tonight. Victoria, certainly, had never been farther from sleep. As Lord Melbourne's hands danced around her, playing with her fingers and combing through her hair, she felt as if every cell of her body were a little soldier standing to attention. Her back had become a sense organ in its own right through which she perceived the living presence of her soon-to-be-lover. The heat of him set the house of her body on fire; his patient, tickling touch went as deep as the lashes of de Sade; the simple rise and fall of his chest was like the poundings of a violator of women. Almost imperceptibly, she began to lean back until she finally gave up all resistance, submitting to the comfort of him, head lolling on his shoulder. She made a small sound, like that of a puppy whimpering in its sleep, as he bent down to kiss her on the neck. "Are you warm, Victoria?" he breathed. He began to undo the mother-of-pearl buttons at the neck of her nightgown.

She let him and as he undid the final one, she tilted her head towards him, eyes questioning.

"Would you like me to kiss you now?" His face seemed sombre, twisted away from the fire and in shadow but still she could make out the kindly humour there.

"Yes, William, I would."

And so he did, lips capturing hers, head describing small circles that made their mouths shift against one another, varying contact and pressure. In terms of sensation alone, it was not so different from kissing Albert. The real difference lay inside her head. With Albert, her mind had asked questions, _What is this?_ and _Who are you?_ whereas with Lord Melbourne, her mind screamed answers, _William, William, I am kissing William, it is William I am kissing, William, William!_ The wrongness of it and the rightness of it! He should only have been her advisor, a father-figure – and he was those things to her but he was also much more.

Her love-object.

Lord Melbourne moved back, observing her reaction. "How was that for you?"

"That was good."

"You are familiar with kissing, yes?"

"Yes, I am." She shrugged one shoulder as if shy to admit it.

"Have you kissed in the Florentine style?"

"The Florentine…? No, I think I have kissed only in the German style." Her lips fluttered in amusement and she was glad to see his respond in kind.

"Permit me, then, to introduce you to this style. It is popular far beyond the bounds of its homeland."

"Very well."

He moved forward once again. This time, as his lips touched hers, he opened them a little and there he waited, breathing warmly, until hers did the same. He pushed down and kissed her more deeply, jaws locking with hers. It was a fierce kiss that threatened to lay her horizontal until his hand came up and cradled the back of her head. He devoured her; she moaned into his mouth. Then as he drew away and she began to float up towards awareness again, she felt something soft and wet move over her lips.

Her eyes flew wide. "Was that – your tongue?"

"Yes, my dear."

"And is that 'kissing in the Florentine style'?"

"Yes, indeed." He raised an eyebrow. His face was still very close. "You do not care for it?"

"No, it is not that," she said, a little hurriedly, her knotted brow belying her words. "It just seems rather strange."

"Is it really strange? Is my body so strange to you?" He took her hand in a certain grip, his thumb lying across the base of her fingers and brought it to his face. He tapped the tips against his bottom lip, moving his head from side to side so they slid over the flesh, watching her intently all the while. Then, as her fingers became bolder and stroked the warmer flesh within, his tongue moved forwards and touched them.

Such a delicate thing! Victoria could not believe what she had found, what she was being permitted to explore: the vulnerable opening into this powerful man's core. As two fingers pushed inside, his eyelids closed, dark lashes fluttering against his cheeks. His tongue rose from its oyster bed to meet her probing, hardly moving at all, simply responding with tiny oscillations to her innocent touch. Yes, it was a strange yet cherishable creature she had discovered!

She wanted more. Her fingers ran round from his lips to the nape of his neck, pulling him towards her. When his mouth met hers, she stroked it with her tongue and when he opened it to moan, she slid her tongue inside.

He accepted it with good grace, permitting it to thrust up into him even though he occupied the superior position, leaning down to meet the woman he held in his arms. He was very pleased with her.

They kissed, then, and for some time there was no thinking of it in terms of its component parts. It was the kiss – the Great Kiss. Without knowing, both began to move their bodies in time, chests heaving, hips squirming in anticipation. Then Victoria became aware that Lord Melbourne's hand had dropped from her jawline and now lay at her throat. It pushed down between her breasts, never breaking contact, over her stomach until it arrived between her legs and clasped her there. His large hand felt like the saddle of some fey steed. A ride in the greenwood beckoned.

Her lips fell from his as Lord Melbourne's touch became more precise, fingers running up and down, ruching the fabric of her nightgown, lingering on that heavenly spot at the crest. Her forehead pressed against his jaw and there she remained, breathing longer, voiced breaths as her lord schooled her. Her face bathed in the waves of warmth and musk that billowed from the open neck of his shirt. When she let out her first soprano cry, his head shifted so his lips lay against that broad, intelligent forehead, pressing it in kiss after kiss.

Victoria's eyes fixed on Lord Melbourne's shoulder and the tiny movements that revealed the employment of his hand below. She traced the arm, the angle of the wrist and noted the size of his hand against her small frame. Surely he was a giant? And why had she never heard tell that giants were kind? Amidst all those tales of crunching bones and utter devastation, why had it not been told they could direct that same power into the most exquisite of touches? She smiled. She decided she loved giants. Look there at how that spade of a hand hovered above her, middle finger only stroking up and down the line between her legs, titillating, teasing –

"Oh!" Her thighs clamped shut and she writhed in his embrace.

"What is the matter?" Lord Melbourne's venturing hand now held her face.

"I am so sorry. I do not know why I… I am so sorry." She twisted and turned like an animal caught in a trap.

"Have I hurt you, little one?" He looked down to where his hand had lately played but there was naught to indicate what had prompted this reaction on the Queen's part, only a dark area in the cotton where her pleasure had soaked through.

Victoria clutched at the telltale patch, removing it from his sight. "I am so ashamed."

"No, no!" Though he tried his best to keep the corners of his mouth turned down, he could not entirely suppress his mirth. His face beamed Jovian warmth. "There is nothing to be ashamed of here. It is entirely natural."

"Sir, there are many natural functions that I do not wish to share with others."

"This one should be shared. It is the very reason why a man touches a woman in that way: to make the honey flow."

She risked a glance upwards. "I think you are being very kind." Her cheeks were scarlet but her eyes begged him to prove her wrong.

"Being kind?" He bumped his forehead against hers and his voice was like velvet. "My darling Victoria, it excites me, it excites me. Listen. Something similar happens to a man. When he first becomes aroused, his cock moves of its own accord. Twitches. Yes," he said as he watched her colour deepen, "ʻcockʼ is the word we shall be using here. Cock and quim. Let us have no more prudery. This is not the place for it."

With the power of the wind that catches you at the summit of a hill, he clasped her and spun her, laying her on her back in front of the fire.


	4. Chapter 4

Lord Melbourne pulled cushions from the armchair and piled them under Victoria's shoulders. He looked at her for a long moment, this perfect doll flushed with embarrassment and arousal, lying there waiting for him to instruct her, to love her. It flashed over him for the first time – the pain of knowing he would not be able to take her. He would never feel the embrace of her cushioned depths, never find himself thrusting with abandon while she moaned beneath him. It was not the only thing he liked about carnal love but to think it was forbidden was like a chain about his spirit. A beast he had not known lived within him suddenly raged and he closed his eyes for a moment, fighting the surge.

The man won the battle. He opened his eyes and told himself, _Bring your full attention to her._ He smiled and kissed her forehead to dispel the touch of anxiety that fluttered there then kissed her mouth once again. As he did so, his hand sought her breast, slowly rolling it inside the modesty of her nightgown.

Consuming as her yielding kisses were, he soon found he could not ignore the drama elsewhere. Something was jutting against his hand. He shifted his attention and there it was, making the faintest bulge in the cotton: the hard centre of her lovely breast. He moved his hand, pushing through the gap in the neck of her nightgown and into that den of warmth and silk. His fingers found the peak and rolled it gently.

Victoria gave a shrill cry and quivered. So strong a response – stronger than he had ever known. So charming, the way her body knew what it wanted though her mind resided in oblivion. He propped himself up on his elbow as he told her, "Here is another of the signals that tell a man a woman is ready for him – the hardened teat. There have been times in everyday life when I have noticed this swollen flesh pushing out a woman's clothing and whenever I have, there has been a galvanic surge in my loins. Yes, this and the heaving chest and the wetness and the flushed skin and the parted lips. These are the ways a woman tells a man what she needs."

All signals now in full flourish, Victoria breathed, "William, you are so sweet, your mouth is so sweet. Will you? Is it too much to ask?" Her tongue still would not form the words but her meaning was clear as her chest heaved upwards.

For a moment, he looked at her quizzically. Did she truly believe he would refuse? There was something in her manner that suggested it was true. With each new thing he taught her, she would have to be convinced that he was not doing it simply for her benefit but that he took pleasure in it himself. With a loving smile, he allowed his head to sink between her breasts. Nudging flimsy cotton to one side, he revealed an apple breast with an upright pip in the centre. He ran his tongue across it then suckled as much of it into his mouth as he could accommodate, tongue pulsing against the teat.

That keening sound again. And this time, her lower quarters bucked. It was useful to know she was the kind of woman who sported a direct connection between her breasts and her quim. He brought his left hand into play, massaging her other breast in time with his sucking.

He nursed so long, enjoying the comfort, enjoying the building tension in both their bodies, he forgot where he was. It had been so long since he had indulged himself with a woman. Oh, he had needs like other men but since his wife left him, he had only hired the occasional tart. He paid them handsomely but the congress had been functional only – a bending of them over the furniture, a brief commotion as he struggled to find their notch amongst a chrysanthemum explosion of layers and frills, and a short fuck, the only part Lord Melbourne found truly satisfactory being his climax. How he had missed the opportunity to use his mouth, his fingers! As if in a dream, his head wandered over to the other breast, fingers pushing up the flesh ready to meet his open mouth.

But sitting at her side and bending over her was not the cleverest way to do this, he decided. He shifted until they lay parallel, some of the weight of his body pressing down upon her as he nuzzled between her breasts.

"Oh!" Little hands settled on his shoulders, half clasping him to her, half pushing him away.

"Am I too heavy for you, Victoria? You are but a mite. Tell me if I am and I shall do this differently."

"No. You are not too heavy. But the weight of you has made me recognise the power you wield over me. It is quite overwhelming."

He moved up so they were face-to-face and he stroked her round cheek. So round, such a lunar face nestled in the midnight sky of her dark locks. His head tilted to the side. "Be assured, I shall never use that power against you. I am yours to command, my Queen."

Those chary fingers moved up to his face and tapped his cheekbones lightly, as if afraid they would cut her. They danced at his temple and from there pushed into his hair.

"Touch me, if you wish to touch me," he whispered. "You cannot offend me. I treasure the gentle touch of women." He took that hand for a moment and kissed the fingers before returning it to its chosen arena. The rhythmic movements against his scalp soothed him. He had not been aware he required soothing. He closed his eyes and allowed himself a sigh. When he opened them again, he caught her eye with a serious look. His right hand moved down once more to touch her nether regions. "I shall not penetrate you, Victoria. As I promised. You shall remain _virgo intacta_. See how my fingers do naught but play?" This time, he pushed his hand under her nightgown and touched her bare skin. There was hair, the puffy lips of a young woman's quim and only a little moisture. So like a virgin. They did not get as wet as they did once they had been opened. To feel any small gush of virgin excitement was a privilege indeed.

"I trust you, dearest William," she said as her cool hand caressed his brow.

"Cherub – there is something I would very much like to show you. I would love you with all my body. May I?"

Her eyes were brilliant with tears. "Yes."

She had very little idea to what she was agreeing, of course. That curve in her upper lip seemed more prominent then than it had before, reminding him of the way she had pouted defensively in the early days of their acquaintance. The tiniest of sneers, it had seemed, favouring the right side of her generous mouth only. He kissed it, that curve to the right, in a way that told her it was time to put away a doubtful pout. Running his hands down her sides and kissing along the midline of her body as he went, Lord Melbourne made his way south until his broad shoulders pressed Victoria's knees apart and he arrived at that place he never imagined he would see. The angle of her legs as they trembled in the firelight made it a mysterious land. He needed more than that. "Open your legs for me," he insisted, rubbing his cheek against her inner thigh and applying light pressure as he spoke. "Yes. Part your legs."

Mewling in her modesty, she still obeyed.

Lord Melbourne stared. For a long time, it seemed he would do nothing but stare with the strangest expression – eyes hooded, lips parted. Then he smiled the way he had smiled so many times before bowing to kiss Victoria's hand, except this time, he bowed to…

She jerked at the strange sensation: so precise, so keen, yet so ephemeral – the pitter-patterings of a mouse loose between her thighs.

He used his thumbs to part her lightly-furred lips and there was her pearl. Such a tiny thing, still pale and tucked away inside its shell. It was hard to believe the small movements he would make would be enough to bring her joy yet more than one woman had told him so. He blew on it and across it, made a zephyr dance in circles around it. He had made up his mind earlier in the day that he would focus on her pearl. His wife, Caroline, had insisted that a girl feels all her pleasure there until she has been made a woman. Certainly, she had played the girl often, holding Lord Melbourne's head so his lips remained glued to her fiery spot and bucking, bucking.

This was quite different. This shy thing needed to be coaxed. He placed the flat of his tongue upon it then circumscribed it languorously, anticipating that moment when it would stand proud against his tongue. And there it was! A little crowing bantam. Lord Melbourne suckled on it, devoted.

Beyond the frame of her knees, the frill of her nightgown, he could see Victoria's head tossing, the mounds of her breasts rising and falling. As he had promised, he would show her all her body could feel without taking her yet he could not resist sliding his tongue lower and tasting her entrance. He pressed her inner lips apart just a tiny amount, releasing the pocket of honey her tight quim had retained. He lapped at it, savouring this pure anointing – the fresh flow of a virgin. He felt as if this liquor might penetrate his very being, revitalise him. Just for an instant, he allowed his tongue to press in deep until it met resistance. A sharp jerk told him the membrane his tongue had glanced across surely was her maidenhead. A shudder passed through him, too, and he was forced to take a moment to compose himself. He was such a large man to be so undone by such a fragile thing. He reached up a hand and laid it on her pliant belly, moving it in slow circles - a belly that had neither swollen with child nor shivered in ecstasy. Was every part of this woman's body infinitely precious? Lord Melbourne opened his mouth wide and drew in as much of her rosy flesh as he could. He might not be the first to ravish her but he was determined to make her first ecstasy his.

Looking up, he saw Victoria was looking back down at him. Her jaws shuddered as if voicing a thousand small 'oh's and her forehead was strained. "How do you know how to pleasure me like that? How can you know, how can you possibly know?"

"Whatever I do _not_ know," he said, "teach me." The hand on her belly reached up farther and clasped the small breast that lay half in, half out of her yawning nightgown. It was as if Lord Melbourne sought her breast as an anchor to a reality that was fast disappearing as he lost himself in her.

Victoria's hands moved to where they should be, one laid over her lover's hand on her breast, stroking it in thanks (yet also demanding it remain where it was) while the other ruffled through the dark head that had now found its home in her lap. And thus, she began to climb towards her peak.

Lord Melbourne advised her as he stopped to breathe. That was his rôle, after all. "Hold your breath as you feel the pleasure rise," he whispered. "Clench – clench everything in your lower quarters. Push yourself against my face." And in his breeches, his poor, neglected cock strained as if it had made up its mind independently to deflower her and was thwarted.

She began to moan – long, purring sounds, each of which ended in a rasping breath. Her knees lifted, the angle of her legs forming a diamond. She laid one leg across Lord Melbourne's back. He felt himself surrounded by her all the more, those thighs now framing his world. In the periphery of his vision, one of them began to shake. How well he knew what that meant! His eyebrows raised so he could see over her mound: her head had fallen to one side and she was biting her lip. There was a slick of perspiration between her breasts.

He determined to continue doing exactly what he was doing but found he had no choice when the fingers buried in his hair clenched into a fist. "William! William!" The pain in his scalp fused with her pleasure. Her pearl, feeling twice as large now, twitched against his tongue and started to withdraw. He knew she was at her crisis. His vision turned to white as he drank in her flood of bliss, every sense delighting in the quivering of her delicate, delicate flower.

As her spasms died away, he released her pearl with a reluctant sucking sound and kissed every part of her quim, content in the knowledge he had served her well.


	5. Chapter 5

His hair was wet, she realised. Had bringing her joy been such strain? Yet as her consciousness clambered out of its golden haze, she became aware of perspiration on her own brow, on her upper lip and between her breasts. This strain – it was something they had both felt. And it was good.

Lord Melbourne sat up and brought her knees together but did not break his touch. He rubbed the outside of her thighs as he looked down on her with a kindly expression. Nevertheless, with his tousled hair, shirt sweat-stained and pulled asunder, he reminded her of something quite different. "You look like an awful pirate," she told him and giggled.

"Well," he said and his face flickered as he adopted the new tone of the moment. "Was that to your taste, Ma'am?"

"Ahem," she muttered as she wondered whether to dare what she would dare. "Was it to _your_ taste, Lord M?" Then she put her hands over her face and laughed uproariously.

"Very much so." He lay down beside her once more, bathing in her merriment.

When she had finished, she propped herself up on her elbow and looked into his beloved face. She brought up a hand and explored it in the same fashion she had before, except this time, she lingered over his glistening lips and cheeks. Victoria shook her head. "I never imagined a man would…" She met his frank green eyes and a word flashed through her mind; that indecent, exciting word he had told her was meant for him. William – he had a _cock_. She had not seen it but now she could not stop thinking about it. Perhaps it was hard as a stallion's. Perhaps that was a ridiculous thought and men only became hard when they were about to penetrate a woman. Holding his attention with sparkling eyes, she moved her hand down from his face and along his body. Frills at the neckline; a brief encounter with the fur of his chest; undulating stomach muscles beneath the linen; the mysterious lumps that pushed out the front of his breeches. Tentative fingers danced over the bulge then gently cradled it.

Lord Melbourne grasped her wrist. "Victoria, you do not need to do that."

"Call me Drina, please."

"Drina –"

"I know I do not need to. I want to." She sat up and pursued her exploration, pressing, tickling, even stroking the bulge with the backs of her fingers. She looked like some great child in her shapeless shift, all eyes and waterfall hair. "But I do not know what I am touching. A man's anatomy is not entirely familiar to me."

He blinked. "You understand he has a cock, yes? And that it becomes hard when he is aroused."

"When he is about to indulge in amorous congress."

"Not just then. It can happen any time. A thought alone can make his pole rise. It is wont to happen at the most inappropriate moments…"

She smiled shyly. "In truth?"

"Indeed. In the past, my own has risen simply because I was in your presence."

She shook her head. "If only I had known." Then her expression changed, strong brows coming together almost in annoyance. "I hear it said that a man's member becomes hard but _how_ does it become hard? I cannot fathom it."

"It fills with blood, the way a person's cheeks fill with blood when they feel bashful."

"Oh," she said, her cheeks doing that very thing. "Are you not afraid it will break?"

"Break?"

"If it is hard, could it not break?"

"No, my dear Drina." He could not suppress a laugh. "It is unlikely to break. Though we term it 'hard', it still has some softness to it and it is flexible at the base to accommodate the movements of the loved one."

"I see. And does it turn red, the way my ridiculous face has become red?"

"A little." He reached up and cupped her chin. "The bulb in particular."

"The _bulb?"_

"The tip of one's cock. It becomes swollen and…" The last words were choked off. Lord Melbourne's face turned stiff.

"Oh, William, whatever is the matter?"

He turned to her with a fire in his eyes she had not seen before. It did not project from them but burned deep within, drawing her in, the way the eyes of a leopard consume all who meet its gaze. Green fire, otherworldly fire. He said, "I want so much to take you. All this talk… I am as excited in my own way as you were. Please..." He hung his head – shielded her from the fire.

Victoria stared at the floor, shaking her head but when she lifted her face, there was the beginning of assent in her eyes.

"I know I must not. I must not."

"Then show me how a man's body works," she beseeched, "the way you have shown me how a woman's body works. Find some way to bring yourself release and allow me to be there."

Lord Melbourne made a noise in the back of his throat and swallowed at the delicious, terrifying, longed-for prospect. "Very well." He sat up on his heels and began to unbutton his breeches. He continued his instruction as he went. "And you are aware that beneath a man's cock lie his bawbles. They contain his seed."

Riveted, Victoria simply nodded.

"That this seed emerges when his excitement reaches its peak and passes into the woman."

"How many seeds? Is it a different number for every man?"

His hand was inside now, grasping his shaft. He tugged on the waistband of his breeches until they lay halfway down his hips. "One cannot observe individual seeds. It is a fluid that emerges, a whitish fluid of viscous consistency. It is the visible sign of a man's crisis. It does not come forth all in one gush but in spurts that are married to the spasms of pleasure he feels."

"But that is what I felt! Spasms of pleasure! Are you saying that a man's and a woman's experience are the same?" Her face glowed with tremendous enthusiasm. "I felt a muscular tension that rose and rose, and there was a sense of moving towards something although I knew not what and then the note was struck, like the climax of a dramatic musical piece, soprano voices ringing out while the orchestra crashes and clashes around them, and my body was spasming along with that sensation you have just described, wave after wave of white-hot joy –"

It had lain at an angle inside his breeches. As Lord Melbourne pulled it out, it bounced before settling into a strong-angled stand, his white shirt draped on either side.

All was silence. Victoria shrank back. It looked so alien, starting up from a thatch of wiry, dark hair. It looked furious, as if it were coming for her, as if it would not take 'no' for an answer.

"Drina – I am still here. Look at me."

She lifted her head, apprehension a sullen troll behind her eyes.

"It is merely a part of me. If you trust me, then you can trust that part of me, too."

"It just seems so large."

"I know. It is hard to believe it could fit inside a woman. But, believe me, it has had precisely the opposite effect on women from that which you picture now. Or so I have been told. I think of it as my pleasure-giver." He pulled off his white shirt. There was an expanse of chest, broad shoulders, less chest hair than she might have imagined. An endless vista of olive skin. He looked quintessentially masculine. And vulnerable. A spear could pierce his flesh just as readily as it could a woman's.

A warm smile that reached his eyes invited her approach and to consolidate the offer, he held out his hand.

She shuffled up and then they were face-to-face, sitting up on their knees, Victoria's small hand enclosed in his. He lifted it, unfurled the fingers and placed it flat against his chest. A squeeze told her it was time to sally and she did, circling her palm against the firm yet giving flesh. An indulgent smile appeared on her lips, one she had only ever bestowed upon Florian or Dash.

"There is nothing to fear here," he said as he moved her hand to a more intimate place, "nothing at all." He pressed her fingers around the shaft. "Does it feel warm?"

"Yes."

"Does it feel soft? Harder deep inside, yes, but yielding on top?"

"Oh, yes."

Forehead to forehead, they both looked down in wonder. "Look," said Lord Melbourne, "you have already excited me. A bead of bliss has appeared at the tip." He smeared the fluid around the head with a delicate touch.

"Oh – it twitched!"

"What did I tell you?"

She voiced a small throb of laughter. "It feels a little like self-heal."

"Self-heal?" He shook his head.

"It is a wild plant. It has a fleshy stem with purple flowers and it grows in some of the lawns here at Buckingham. I always stoop to press it between my fingers. It is delightfully squidgy."

"Would you care to – squidge? – me?"

She gave him a luxuriating squeeze.

"My darling…" Lord Melbourne placed his hand beside hers. "Shall I show you what comes next? Will you forgive me the sin of Onan?"

Her smile was wry and one-sided.

"You see this here? This is the prepuce. It moves when I move my hand. When my cock is at rest, it covers the bulb and protects it. This is the part Jews remove so their members always look like this." He pulled the foreskin all the way back, allowing her to see the head fully.

"Well, now it looks like a mushroom."

"Yes, that is commonly said. The bulb is very sensitive. Only the gentlest touch should be used there and it preferable for it to be moist."

"How does one make it moist?"

"Sometimes it provides its own moisture and sometimes…" Lord Melbourne raised his hand to his mouth and licked the palm discreetly before returning it to his member and smoothing it over the head in a polishing motion.

"May I?" Victoria's hand moved up from his shaft and closed over the end. She rolled it in her palm, holding it just tightly enough to feel the pulse in it then used the tips of her fingers to trace the ridge.

A high-pitched sound. She blinked. It was too shrill, surely, to have come from her sober Prime Minister. But, in faith, it had! An exquisite touch had elicited an exquisite response. "So silky," she mused. "Why, men are much softer than I imagined they would be."

He took her hand again and moved it farther down, below his shaft. "And here now, what do you feel?"

"Two round structures. This is where your seed resides." She clutched them lightly. "But they are not separate – they are together in a sack of skin."

"That is true. The sack keeps them safe. Ensures I do not accidentally leave one behind when I leave the house."

Victoria giggled, her dark hair falling forwards on either side of her face.

"Be careful there, too."

"Oh dear, you poor men! It seems we women must be gentle with you everywhere!"

"Men are far more sensitive than you might think, in all manner of ways. However, if you touch me there – yes, there, upon the shaft – you may be a little more vigorous." He took his cock mid-way along in a firm grip, waited for her to settle graceful fingers over his and slowly began to pull. "See how the skin moves. I take it right up to the ridge of the bulb."

His little lover's head moved this way and that, observing his pleasure from a variety of angles.

"My hand moves away from the body, all the pressure being applied on the upstroke. It is getting even harder now. See how the bulb swells…"

"And this is how a man brings himself to his crisis?"

"Yes. You may have heard it called 'fetching mettle'."

"And how does the seed emerge?"

"From that small slit in the end just there."

"Oh, William!" she cried in a sudden passion. "I must see all of you!" Her hands came up to his chest and pushed him down until he found himself lying exactly where she had lain not so long before. Her eyes roamed his body. "Is all this playground mine to enjoy?" she said as she bowed over him. She ran a hand up the inside of one tightly-clad thigh, around his erect member and up his stomach to his chest. As she felt him attempt to rise, she applied the slightest pressure and was delighted when he succumbed to her command, notwithstanding both of them knew he could easily overpower her if he wished. The power of his chest was manifest in the rise and fall of his breath. Such a cavern lay beneath this veneer of flesh, resounding with the utterances of a thousand priests and men of war. Men were a juxtaposition. They were the humble servants of the whims of one's flesh and the shark that destroys with one bite.

Victoria watched.

He began to relax into the touch both of them now lavished on his upright pole, head falling back, eyes closing. For a while, his face tilted towards the fire and the little queen became captivated by the line of a certain tendon in his neck. It was beautifully arched, subtly strained, the incarnation of the body's strive for pleasure. Every now and then, his stomach muscles clenched and he pushed his hips upwards. This was often accompanied by a guttural sound. At one point, he brought his other hand down to his groin and cradled his sack, lifting it and warming it. Inspired, Victoria rubbed along his thigh, letting her fingers slide up to the depression where his thigh met his hip. The fur there felt velvety, pleasant to the touch.

His head rolled back in line with his body. There was perspiration now, and his chest and cheeks were flushed. Hooded eyes opened and looked at her along the landscape of his body. His face, usually so serious, was rapt with pleasure – not just the pleasure of the flesh but of the pride he took in her. "Dear, sweet, innocent Drina," he gasped, "cherub sent from Heaven to test and reward me, my agony of bliss is near. You must steel yourself. Some women are disgusted by the spurt of a man's seed. Others react badly simply because they are surprised. I do not want you to be disturbed by what you see. If you wish, turn away now."

"No!" Her face was earnest. "I want to see you in your joy. I am afraid of nothing any longer."

"Oh my love, my love," he repeated. "I shall direct it towards myself so none of it falls upon you." With that, he began to move his fist up and down to a furious beat. Victoria struggled to hold on, fearing her arm would be torn off at the shoulder by the violent movements. His cock looked swollen, felt thick in her grasp. His knees came up; she moved around so she sat not beside him but between his legs. She was surprised to note his ballocks moving of their own accord, occasionally tightening as some superlative stroke had him leaping closer to his goal.

But it was his face she was most intrigued by. For an instant, he flashed her a look she had never imagined she would see on the face of her unflappable Prime Minister: like that of a prisoner pleading for mercy from a brutal prison guard. Then he bit his bottom lip and began to breathe heavily through his nose. His entire upper body was a portrait of terrific strain with its red-flushed skin and corded tendons. He grunted and then he spoke, voice hoarse, "Yes – yes, there it is, my gush, my pearly shower." He pulled his cockstand towards himself and right out of Victoria's grip. Her mouth fell open as she watched it pulse with the seed rising from his sack. Then – huzzah! – something erupted from the tip.

Victoria shrieked and leant back on her hands but Lord Melbourne had kept his promise. The ropes of seed arced down onto him; creamy, glutinous strings that splashed onto his stomach and dripped down his sides or turned into precious gems caught in the hair of his chest.

She laughed. Laughed at her own surprise like a spectator at a firework display. She craned her neck forwards to get a better look. "Incredible." She shook her head yet her smile was broad.

The touch of annoyance he felt at her reaction was lost in the mellowness of his comedown. He continued to rub himself, urging out the final spurts before permitting himself to surrender to insensibility, at least for a moment or two.

"Did you feel it coming out?"

"What was that, dearheart?" He looked at her with bleary, contented eyes.

"The seed. Could you feel it emerging? Is the gushing outwards a part of the pleasure itself?"

His eyebrows flicked. "I suppose so, yes."

"Strange. For me, it felt like a pulling inwards."

"I see. Well, that may be because you are a woman and I am a man, as we have recently established."

Victoria chuckled. A mischievous look came over her and she darted forward to kiss Lord Melbourne's spent cock where it lay on his thigh.

Delighted, he rolled his head from side to side. "Ah, if I were ten years younger, I would twitch for you again."

Further emboldened, she reached out a hand to touch a bead of joy caught in his thatch.

"No." He pushed her hand away. "You must not touch it. If you were to touch it and then touch your flower, you might fall foul of me." He began to wipe himself down with his shirt.

Victoria looked sheepish. She went to the pitcher and basin, and washed her hands. And while her back was turned, she conceived the peculiar notion that none of it had happened. Surely it was not possible that her beloved Prime Minister was there in her bedroom, that they had engaged in amorous congress, that both had paraded their rapture with such lack of inhibition? Yet when she turned back to the hearth, there he was. He had shed his boots and breeches (at last), and lay stretched out upon the rug, dark and wolfish. And beckoning. Victoria ran to the naked wildman who had taken over her bedroom, her childhood, her heart.

Wrapped in his arms, she felt at peace at last. She laid her head upon his bosom.

He rocked her and stroked her back. "Are you still afraid of tomorrow?"

She had known this question would come. She twisted her fingers in the hair at the base of his throat. "Let us not talk of that."

"We must, Drina. It is the whole point of tonight. I need to know if you now believe it is possible to experience pleasure in the bedchamber."

"You know I do!"

"Then you must trust that your Albert will be able to do for you what I have done. He will be the one who deflowers you."

"There are many firsts in a woman's life," she mused, "and she forgets none of them."

"I should hope not." He pulled her close and kissed her cheek.

They lay like that for some time, the barely-a-woman-queen with the huge eyes and the naked man, fully potent and full of tenderness. Then Victoria said, "Will you promise me just one thing?"


	6. Chapter 6

St James's Palace. Everything had gone to plan. As soon as she had found herself in Albert's presence, all fear had dissipated. The music was solemn yet lovely. Her bridesmaids looked like nymphs. The joy of the crowd was palpable. She felt like exactly what she was: a beautiful young queen lost in a fairytale. But there was one missing element.

He stood beside her, dressed as a military man, the stave in his hand pointing towards the heavens, grim as some avenging angel. Yet when a real angel glanced upon him, as she had said she would, he kept his promise. The aloof façade crumbled. He held her gaze until he saw her sigh, and then he smiled and mouthed the precious words.

My Drina.


End file.
